


Each Charted Course

by admiralty



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Memories, Self-Reflection, breakup angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiralty/pseuds/admiralty
Summary: Mulder reflects on Christmases past, and considers some roads not travelled.For the 2019 Secret Santa Exchange.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 25
Kudos: 100
Collections: X-Files Secret Santa Fanfic Exchange (2019)





	Each Charted Course

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isadub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isadub/gifts).



> My prompt was: Just want an atmosphere: snow, cold, long nights-short days, decorations, etc... as it is at the end of December (angst, humor)
> 
> Thanks to Kasey, Nicole & Fiona for the beta.
> 
> I hope you love it, Isabelle!

  
  
  


He sits on the back porch, the frigid air biting at his exposed skin. He should probably be wearing more than a T-shirt but the idea of going back inside is unappealing at the moment, for some reason. He likes it out here in the quiet, alone with his thoughts. 

There are no sleigh bells echoing in the distance or even the sharp scent of pine but Christmas isn’t just a time of year; it’s a feeling. And he feels it tonight.

“Hey,” a voice comes from behind him, as the back door opens a bit. Even in the thick chill he can sense home as it escapes through the crack: the scent of Christmas ham and pumpkin pie, the snap and crackle of the fireplace, yuletide carols softly spilling out, all the things he’s so content to be part of.

Scully plunks down next to him, wraps her hand around the crook of his arm, and leans in against him. “Mom left.”

He nods, staring out into the woods. “Sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

Scully nods. “She’s worried about you,” she says, hesitantly. “You were a little distant tonight.”

“Got a lot on my mind.”

She squeezes him tighter. “Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she says softly. “I love you.”

Her voice is soft as the moonlight, but warm. It’s really all he needs, and he knows it. He turns to face her, to return the sentiment.

“I love you, too.”

“What are you thinking so hard about?” she asks, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Regrets,” he says simply.

“That’s a bit sad, for Christmas,” she points out. “Doesn’t seem like the time for regrets.”

“Well, I’ve had a few.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, and from inside the house Frank Sinatra’s _White Christmas_ comes on, as if their stereo had read his mind. His most immediate regret is feeling this way at all on Christmas. He doesn’t really want to think about all the things he’d have done differently over the years if he could.

“Pretend I don’t know,” she says. “About these regrets.”

He sighs, knowing she’s had plenty of her own. He hadn’t meant to make everything heavy. Maybe he can lighten the mood a bit. “Well, for one, that you and I didn’t allow ourselves to have this so much sooner.”

“I know that one all too well,” she says. “But I try not to see it as a regret, more like… the path we chose. And it did lead us here, eventually.”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “But there are a few things over the years I’d have done differently if I could.”

“Oh yeah?”

He shrugs. “Ghosts of Christmases past, I suppose.”

A steamy plume of breath escapes her lips from beside him, and he can feel her smiling, the way he always can. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me about these ghosts. Tell me what you would have done differently.”

He smiles, pulls her into his lap. His butt is freezing from the icy porch but she surrounds him with her warmth. It’s Antarctica. It’s trust. It’s everything he needs and more. He still finds it difficult to believe how long it took him to come around regarding this quiet, uneventful life they share together. But he’s here, now. Truly here with her. And happy.

“Well, Tiny Tim,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her hair, “sit a spell with your old Scrooge and let me tell you a few.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**1 9 9 3**

  
  


“It’s just dinner at my place,” Scully says hopefully as she puts on her coat to leave the office. “My parents were out of town visiting my brother for Christmas so it’s a little belated celebration.”

Mulder rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Please,” she rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t be. My mother has been bugging me to meet you for months.”

He stops pulling his own coat on, mid-sleeve. “She has?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says in that sly, kind of sexy way. He shakes away the errant thought. He can’t think of Scully like that.

“Why?”

Scully shrugs. “She’s my mother. It’s bad enough I go to work carrying a gun every day, she wants to know who it is I’m trusting with my life.”

He finishes pushing his arms through the sleeves, inexplicably flustered. Trusting one’s partner with one’s life comes with the territory. She’s required to trust him to effectively do her job. But something about the way she’d said it puts him off guard. They’ve only been partners for a few months but he’s already put her in so much danger. Guilt creeps over him like a bad rash.

He’s nervous to meet Scully’s mother. He’s never really been in a position to think about it before but suddenly it could happen, and tonight. Right now. He isn’t prepared at all.

“Well, what do you say?” She looks at him expectantly.

He wants to tell her yes, even though he’s afraid to. He wavers. One answer will take him one way, a different answer will lead him another.

_“Why not?” he grins. “I hope they’re prepared for me to regale them with conspiracy theories.”_

_She smiles, that really wide one he rarely gets to see. “Don’t worry about that,” she assures him. “They’ve heard plenty about you.”_

_When he arrives, he takes in his surroundings. Scully’s apartment is cozy and, just as he’d expected, pristine. There’s a distinct femininity he likes, but at the same time it unsettles him. Dana Scully is his partner, his friend. He’s not supposed to see her as a woman. This feels intensely private, but she’s allowed him into her space and he’s thrilled in spite of his reservations._

_Mrs. Scully is all warmth and politeness, fawning over him like he imagines she does her own sons. Imagines, because he’s certainly never received such treatment from his own mother in all thirty two years of his life; not really. He lets her take his coat, lets her kiss his cheek, lets her call him “Fox.” He likes her already._

_Scully hasn’t spoken much about Ahab, but he’s exactly as Mulder had pictured. He’s tall and serious, with the military manner he sees jump out of Scully every time he himself steps out of line. He has a firm handshake and looks Mulder in the eye, with the same familiar skepticism he sees in his daughter’s eyes practically daily. He has to stop himself from laughing, knowing he’d be unable to explain._

_The four of them chat and laugh and eat a wonderful meal Scully had prepared; he’s impressed and delighted by this unexpected domestic talent he’d never had the occasion to wonder about before._

_Ahab jokes about the fact that Scully’s Christmas tree still stands so close to New Year’s and a good natured argument ensues: a tiny portrait of their lives. He sits back and profiles, watches her interact with her family closely, sees how she yearns for her father’s approval and takes her mother’s for granted. He realizes he’s learned more about his partner in one evening than he’s allowed himself to since he met her._

_At the end of the night Mrs. Scully hugs him, and he hugs her back. Ahab grasps his hand firmly, pumping it a couple times, and looks him right in the eye again, thanking him for looking after his baby. Mulder says “you’re welcome” and is instantly compelled to do a much better job of that particular task from here on out._

_Turns out Scully was right about her father; he asks for nothing less than the best you can give and you’re happy to give it._

_He and Scully stand at her front door and wave goodbye, both weirdly cognizant of her parents’ strategic departure that’s enabled the two partners to be left alone. Suddenly this feels like a successful date; some kind of test he’s passed with flying colors. She looks at him and grins, and he grins back, the miraculous outcome of the evening giving them both a high. He’d charmed her parents, plain and simple. If there was a stamp of approval to be received, he’d earned it. There is pride on her face, as if she herself could somehow take credit._

_They stand on her front stoop looking into each other’s eyes and there’s gazing, definite gazing happening. Maybe it’s just the environment; the proximity to home, to the personal, but his mind wanders to how pretty she looks right now, and as if to further accentuate this new knowledge, snow begins to fall around them like they’re stuck inside some terrible romantic comedy._

_She laughs, however, a bit shyly, and turns to go back inside._

_The spell is broken, for now, but he knows. He knows a lot sooner than reality will allow him._

  
  
  


“Well, what do you say?” She looks at him expectantly.

“I appreciate the invitation, Scully,” he says. “But… I promised my own mom I’d go see her tonight,” he lies. Save for a quick call on Christmas, he hasn’t talked to his mother in weeks.

“Oh, okay,” she says. He can tell she’s disappointed. “Next time, then.”

Mulder watches her leave the office, going back to her enigmatic personal life. The next day she calls him with the news of her father’s untimely death. 

It doesn’t take him long to realize he should have said yes.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**1 9 9 7**

  
  
  


He isn’t sure how much he should tell her. What he’d said in the children’s center is the truth: that Emily is a miracle that was never meant to be.

What he hadn’t said is an entirely different story. What he hadn’t said is that he knows far more than he should: that her ova had been stored in a government lab. That he’d found them, kept them. That he’d actually had them tested for viability.

He never told her for one reason: he hadn’t wanted to see that look on her face: the one he sees right now, watching her mother holding her on the couch as she cries quietly.

Scully’s truly worried about the adoption, he realizes, and he hasn’t been helpful at all. He doesn’t mean to hurt her, ever. It’s just that he knows, he _knows_ deep down the way Fox Mulder knows so many things instinctively, that this is not going to end well for her, or for Emily. There’s simply no way. 

But he doesn’t want to be the one to tell her that. He doesn’t want to be the one to break her heart this way.

“It’s all right, honey,” Margaret Scully says as she holds her daughter, rubbing her shoulder. Mulder hangs back on the landing, looking down upon them, and despite the protective part of him that wants to keep her from knowing anything that would cause her harm, he wants to go to her. Tell her everything, and be the one who holds her instead.

  
  
  
_He walks down the steps silently, footsteps audible only to Mrs. Scully who spots him over Scully’s shoulder. She nods at him, and they share an unspoken understanding._

_He comes around the couch and sits next to Scully on the other side, and Mrs. Scully gently releases her, rolling her into him as if she were gingerly handing an eager relative a fresh newborn. Scully doesn’t react, or if she does, he doesn’t notice. She grips his shirt and continues crying, her walls completely down for once._

_Mrs. Scully stands up and leaves without another word. Mulder is grateful for her ability to read the situation so well and he continues to be impressed by her astuteness when it comes to him and Scully._

_“What is it?” he asks when her mother is gone. “Scully, talk to me.”_

_“I don’t know how to tell you this,” she cries into his shoulder._

_“It’s okay, you can tell me anything.” He laughs inwardly, ruefully, at the ridiculousness of the statement, considering everything he’s kept from her._

_“This whole thing, it’s just… bringing up these fears and desires I never really knew I had before, Mulder.”_

_“Such as?”_

_She sniffs. “Such as, coming to the realization of how much I want to have children. And learning over and over that it just isn’t a possibility for me.”_

_Summoning his courage, he knows the right thing to do. “I need to tell you something,” he says._

_She leans back to look him in the eye. “What, Mulder?”_

_He sighs. “I know what’s happened to you, why you can’t conceive. I’ve known for a few months now.”_

_She stares at him, stunned. “What are you talking about?” He was aware her oncologist had told her she was barren, and she’d known it was a direct result of her abduction, but had never really known what had occurred, exactly._

_“When you were abducted, your ova were taken from you, all of them. It was a high application radiation procedure, the same thing that caused your cancer. That’s why you’re unable to conceive.”_

_She shakes her head. “How do you know this?”_

_“When I was looking into your illness, I found them. They were stored in a lab. ”_

_“You.._ found _them?” she asks, absolutely shocked._

_“I had them tested immediately, Scully, as I knew you would.” He’d never discussed what he’d found with her, too afraid for her life at the time to consider her thoughts on having another. But now is the time to be honest._

_“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asks carefully._

_“You were deathly ill, Scully. I couldn’t bear to give you more bad news.”_

_She looks up at him, her eyes so, so sad. “And that’s what it was…? It was bad news?”_

_He shrugs, helpless. “The doctor said that the ova weren’t viable.”_

_Scully takes this in, still holding him by his forearms. “And you’re telling me now because…”_

_“The hearing, Scully. I think you should know what you’re getting yourself into. So you can be prepared.”_

_“...For them to tell me no,” she finishes._

_“In case they do,” he nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he says._

_She is quiet, still processing. He hopes she isn’t angry with him._

_“Scully, whatever happens, I’ll be here for you, okay?” He knows it isn’t enough. He’s certainly not her consolation prize for the future she’s going to be denied. “I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.”_

_He realizes he’s recited Elton John lyrics without even meaning to and hopes she doesn’t notice. Luckily she doesn’t seem to, and he’s relieved. He’d meant it and he wouldn’t want her to think his response was artificial, canned._

_“Thank you for telling me,” is all she says. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”_

  
  


Mulder stands on the landing, watching the scene beneath him. Mother and daughter, sobbing together on the couch. 

“Same shit, different day, eh, Mr. Mulder?” a gruff voice comes from behind him, just soft enough not to draw attention from the women below. “I keep wondering when all this will end. I guess it doesn’t for you, does it?” Bill Jr. glares at him from the top of the stairs.

Mulder is exhausted and devastated on behalf of Scully. He wonders when it’s going to end, too. He wonders all the time.

He really doesn’t want to be dealing with her older brother, the dickwad, right now. Bill really has the wrong impression of him, especially when it comes to his feelings for his sister, but he can hardly blame the man. 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I really wish it would, Bill.”

“Do you?” he challenges. “Seems like every time you turn up, I see my sister crying again.”

Mulder stares the other man in the face. He wants to punch him, but for what? Being absolutely, one-hundred percent correct? He bites his tongue.

Luckily, Bill Jr. is rarely interested in long, drawn out conversations. His specialty is a drive-by-slinging with the final word on top. So he scoffs, gives another glare and continues down the hallway.

Mulder glances once more at Scully, her shoulders hitching as she sobs quietly. 

Bill’s an ass, but he’s right. The truth will only hurt her more. He’ll say what he needs to say in the hearing but only as much as he has to. 

He can’t give her more bad news. He can’t bear to be the one who keeps making her cry.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**1 9 9 8**

  
  


Snow begins to fall gently outside his fourth-floor window as they sit on the couch and tear into their presents. He doesn’t really need to open his; seeing the grin on Scully's face when he handed his gift to her was good enough of a present for him. But he’s eager to see what she’s picked out.

He stops unwrapping to watch her, but then she stops too. 

“You first, Mulder,” she says.

Her wish is his command. He opens the wrapping paper, snaps the ribbon. Pulls out a cassette tape.

 _XXX Alien Anal Probe._ He nearly chokes on his own tongue.

“Scully!” he admonishes, and that mischievous smile of hers is back. “You got me porn for Christmas!”

She shrugs. “Figured you were missing some after the office fire. Just want to help you get your collection started again.”

He turns to look at her. “That’s so sweet,” he grins delightedly.

“Eh,” she shrugs. “It’s no trouble.”

“No, I mean it’s so sweet you think I haven’t got backup copies.”

She shoves him good naturedly. “Anyway, take it out.”

His jaw drops. “What?”

“I don’t mean… _no!_ ” He chuckles and now it’s her turn to be flustered. “Come on, Mulder.”

“I don’t know if this is something you really want to be here for, Scully,” he warns. 

“Just open it already.”

He slides the video out of its sleeve and two Knicks tickets tumble into his lap. Next Thursday against the Wizards.

He smiles at her warmly. “Thanks, this is really great.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles, seeming genuinely pleased with her gift. She shifts uncomfortably. “I hope you have fun with… whoever you take.”

He looks at her. “Scully. I’m taking you.”

Scully blinks, looking genuinely stunned. “What?”

“Of course I’m taking you. Who else would I ask?” He regrets the question instantly as the thought completes itself, the tension of the past few weeks still lingering in the air. _Diana._

 _Not a chance,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He’s too much of a chicken shit.

“Okay,” Scully replies softly. “Thanks, I’d love to.” He can tell she’s relieved, even happy, and considering how little Scully cares about basketball the implication alone is enough for now.

“Open yours,” he says, eager to blow right past a potentially awkward moment.

She smiles again and finishes unwrapping her own present, pulling out the object, confused.

“It’s… a paper towel tube,” she says.

“Look inside, Einstein,” he says impatiently. She feels around inside the tube and slides out the rolled up gift, unrolling it, taking it in.

It’s a small, somewhat weathered photograph of a luxury liner, angled a bit away from the camera, headed out to sea. In the corner is a scrawled date- 1939.

“This is… is this what I think it is?” she asks.

Mulder nods. “It’s the last known photograph taken of the Queen Anne before it set sail, never to be heard from again,” he says. “I was going to frame it, but… I know you’re particular about that kind of thing.”

“How did you even find this?” she asks, awed.

“The boys helped me with that.” The Gunmen had actually done more work than he had in an effort to track it down. When he’d told them who it was for, they’d been on a mission. He was beginning to think they could find Jimmy Hoffa if he told them it was for Scully.

She just looks at it, and he isn’t sure what she’s thinking. “I know it wasn’t real to you, Scully, but everything about that experience was so real to me. And you saving my ass for the millionth time was real to me, too,” he chuckles. “I guess… I want you to have something from my experience that was real.” _Since you couldn’t be there with me. Since I didn’t have the balls to ask you to be there with me._

“It’s beautiful, Mulder,” she breathes, and he doesn’t think she’s just being polite. She traces her finger across one of the smokestacks gently.

“Careful not to handle it too much, it’s an original,” Mulder points out. She pulls her hand away.

“Thank you, Mulder,” she says. “I love it.”

He looks at her intently and he wants to say it. He closes his eyes, summons up the courage.

  
  


_“What I said to you was real, too, Scully.”_

_She looks up from the photograph, alarmed. “What do you mean?”_

_He takes a deep breath, soldiers forward. Like he should have done so many times. Like he should have done back in his hallway. “I mean.. what I told you in the hospital.”_

_She waits. He knows she wants him to say it and out of the thousand times he’s wanted to, the thousand times she’s deserved to hear it, there’s no time like the present._

_“I love you, Scully.”_

_She looks at him for a long time, every second an eternity. For a moment he worries he’s completely misread everything, that maybe she doesn’t love him back, maybe this was a huge mistake. But then he sees a small tear forming in the corner of her eye, a familiar one. One he saw once before in a very similar scenario. Then a tiny smile. And before he realizes if he’s actually made an active decision or if his body is doing it for him, he reaches out to grasp the back of her head like he did on that ship, and pulls her into him as their lips meet for real, finally, without interruption._

_The kiss is soft at first, chaste, even, but he isn’t interested in sending her mixed signals anymore. He places his other hand on the side of her jaw and ever so gently opens his mouth, inviting her in. The possibility of more; the inevitability of the two of them._

_A quiet, almost inaudible sigh of relief escapes her lips as she opens her own mouth, allowing her tongue to enter his and there they find each other, at last, in the place where there is no more “platonic,” there is no more “professional.” They are no longer “just friends.”_

_She shifts her body until she is sitting up straight and he pulls her into him, close, and the kiss is endless, perfection, until they finally break away, both panting, eyes dilated, overcome with promise._

_“I love you too, Mulder,” she says, her voice filled with emotion._

  
  
  


His eyes open and she is smiling. “You okay, Mulder?”

He sits back, Maurice’s words still echoing in his head. The audacity of the ghost’s assessment of his personality still staggers him. Mostly due to its deadly accuracy.

_Do you know why you see the things you do? Because you’re a lonely man._

What if he is only seeing things? Maybe he’s only trying to convince himself she feels the same way. It’s been months since the kiss that should have happened never happened and she hasn’t said a word about it. What if she doesn’t? What if, by doing this, he loses her forever? 

He _is_ lonely, pathetically so. She’s the only one who can fill that void and making that move right now is selfish, pure and simple.

“I’m fine,” he says, Scully’s signature disclaimer. “I’m happy you like it.”

_And maybe if you hang it up where I can see it, it will remind me of a moment when I was actually brave._

None the wiser, Scully continues looking at her gift, a smile plastered across her face that’s really much more than he deserves.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**1 9 9 9**

  
  


“Scully, it’s me.”

There’s a crackle on the other end of the line and he can barely hear her. She sounds so far away. “What is it, Mulder?”

“You’ll never guess where I am right now.”

He hears a sigh, that excruciatingly familiar one. “I’m sure I couldn’t.”

“I’m investigating an old, open X-File. You don’t even want to try to guess?”

“Mulder, I’m stuck in family mode. I can’t talk about X-Files with you right now.”

“Okay, I get it. But this is one is Christmassy,” he says, hopefully. “Have you got a couple minutes?”

She sighs again, but this time he can tell she’s smiling. “I’m on my mother’s porch in my slippers. You have as long as it takes for my toes to start to freeze. Go.”

“Twenty one years past, Christmas Eve, Lexington, Kentucky. The twinkle and jingle of lights and bells sing...”

“The lights sing, Mulder?”

“Shh, I’m telling a story.”

 _“_ We did this last year, you remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The scent of gingerbread wafts through the air but on one dark street a terrible, terrible accident occurred.”

“How festive.”

“An accident— _or was it?_ ”

There’s silence on the line. Then, “I’m listening.”

Mulder grins. “The victim was an old woman, found heavily intoxicated, in the middle of a snowy road.”

“Hit by a car?”

“Not quite. I don’t think this case would have drawn good old Spooky Mulder’s attention if she was.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Mulder?” he can hear the skepticism he’d expected as he begins his unraveling.

“Well, the manner in which she died was... unusual, to say the least.”

Scully is quiet. “How did she die, Mulder?”

“There were some interesting… markings… on her back. Some would say they were almost claw-like.”

“And…?”

“And,” he says pointedly, “on her forehead, too. Although those ones looked more like… hooves.”

The line is silent. “Mulder.”

“Scully.”

“No.”

“Looks like grandma got run over by a reindeer,” he says, barely containing his glee.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No, wait!” he laughs. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. How’s the family?”

A sigh. “They’re great. Bill really wishes you were here.”

He chuckles, then lets out a deep sigh.

“Is this really what you called for, Mulder?” she asks, and he’s suddenly gripped with the realization that he’d actually called for a very important reason. He’s only delaying the inevitable.

  
  


_He takes a deep breath. “Um, Scully… I actually called because I have something important to tell you.”_

_He can hear her voice turn serious. Even more serious. “What is it?”_

_He exhales. “A couple months ago, I was experiencing some pain... in my head. I didn’t want to worry you so I saw another doctor just to rule things out, you know?”_

_She’s quiet for a moment. He hopes she isn’t angry already._

_“Anyway,” he continues, “They couldn’t rule anything out. Something is definitely not right.”_

_“Mulder…” she says quietly. “Is this to do with the D.O.D.? What happened to you there?”_

_He shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’m guessing so.”_

_He can hear her shaking her head. “But your scans were clean…” she sounds like she’s talking more to herself now, in that way she gets when she can’t believe something. In this case, her own eyes. “They were clean…”_

_“I don’t want to worry you, Scully,” he says. “That’s the last thing I want. I’m hoping this is nothing. But just in case it isn’t…” he trails off. “I want my doctor to know about it.”_

_He wonders why he picked up the phone tonight of all nights to tell her this, and in an instant it hits him: he’s so lonely it hurts. He looks around his quiet apartment, his sad little stocking hanging up next to his fish tank, its googly-eyed occupants his only company for the holiday. He’d been so desperate to just hear her voice that it seemed like a good excuse._

_“Mulder, are you by yourself tonight?”_

_“No,” he answers, perhaps too quickly. “I mean, there’s a_ _Twilight Zone marathon on the Sci-Fi channel, and I’ve got an entire half gallon of eggnog. I’m all set.” He grins. “I’m fine, Scully, okay? Have fun with your family. Be sure to catch Bill under the mistletoe for me.”_

_He hears a half-chuckle as she sighs, somewhat resigned. “Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she says quietly. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”_

_“I know, we always do,” he replies. “Merry Christmas.”_

  
  
  
  


“Is this really what you called for, Mulder?” she asks.

“I just wanted to hear your voice on Christmas, Scully. Is that so terrible?”

Scully sighs on the other end of the line. He can hear her smiling again. “No, it isn’t.”

It’s a nice thought, he muses, that they’d somehow figure this out. That Scully might find the answer to this unanswerable question. Somehow find the cure he knows deep in his gut does not exist. But he knows the truth; there is no Christmas miracle that’s going to get him out of this one. And if he tells her, everything will change. Everything.

“Okay,” he replies. “My joke is done. You can go warm up, Scully. My best to the family.”

“Bye, Mulder,” she replies, and the line goes dead.

He realizes he forgot to wish her a Merry Christmas.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**2 0 0 2**

  
  


Scully is crying in the bathroom again.

Six months, more than twice as many motel rooms, their world in complete and utter upheaval. He sits on the edge of the disheveled bed, the sheets scattered to the floor. They haven’t left this particular room in over forty-eight hours and have certainly made good use of that time, in his estimation. No more than twenty minutes ago he’d made her scream in ecstasy so loud he worried the FBI would hear her, wherever they happen to be at the moment.

She’d gone to take a shower, and he thought everything was okay, great, even. But now she’s crying, quietly; retreated into her own space like she has a few times since they started this adventure.

 _Adventure._ He shakes his head, pissed at himself for ever referring to it that way. He’s well aware what Scully has given up to be with him: her job, her family. Her identity. There are any number of reasons she could be tucked away behind her walls right now, and he’s responsible for every single one of them.

But maybe it isn’t one of those reasons. Maybe it’s something else; something they haven’t discussed, not really.

Something she feels responsible for.

He stands and walks the four steps to the bathroom door, knocking gently. “Scully? You okay in there?”

He hears nothing.

“Scully?”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says softly from the other side of the door.

But he knows she isn’t fine.

  
  


_He pushes the door open gently, and sees her on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, hair wet, eyes running. He kneels down next to her and reaches out, pulling her into his bare chest. Her bathrobe opens just enough so he can feel her skin against his when he holds her close, her heartbeat right next to his. She rests her head on his shoulder and he strokes her wet hair as she tries to calm down her breathing._

_“It’s William, isn’t it?” he asks. They haven’t so much as mentioned their son’s name in months. After an attempt or two, she’d made it plain she had no interest in reopening that particular wound. The nature of their circumstances brought other, more pressing matters to the forefront and over the months it seemed the longer they went without talking about him the harder it was to bring him up at all._

_He never wants to see her cry, ever. But maybe she needs to. Maybe they both need to._

_“I’m so sorry, Mulder… I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to protect him, for the both of us,” she sobs. He feels his own tears welling up and wonders if she’s been holding onto this pain for months, keeping it inside because both of their modus operandi seems to be perpetual denial of truth. He knows this, as ironic as it seems, because it’s been that way with them from the start._

_“You have nothing to be sorry for, Scully,” he tells her. He plans to tell her this every day for the rest of their lives if he must. “You did the right thing and you can’t keep beating yourself up about it. It won’t do either of us any good.”_

_She cries, really cries into his shoulder and he holds her close, and they talk about William, really talk about him: the things Scully remembers, the things Mulder missed. And the things they’ll both miss, together. They cry and hold on to each other tightly and come out the other side stronger, unified._

_Unbreakable._

  
  
  


“Scully? You okay in there?”

He hears nothing.

“Scully?”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says softly from the other side of the door. He waits, wondering what to do. After a few moments, the door opens, and she comes out. Her eyes aren’t puffy, her body isn’t hunched.

She’s fine. It’s easier to believe it than to press her further.

“Well,” she says, walls back up, clearly attempting to put any unpleasantness behind her. “Should we order in? Watch _A Christmas Story_ on TBS?”

Christmas. Right. It’s easy to lose track while stuck in this neverending limbo-type existence.

“Um. Yeah, anything you want, Scully,” he says, reaching out to touch her face, make her look him in the eye. She does, for a moment, then the moment is gone.

Everything is fine.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**2 0 1 2**

  
  


He sits on the back porch, the frigid air biting at his exposed skin. He should probably be wearing more than a T-shirt but the idea of going back inside is unappealing at the moment, for some reason. He likes it out here in the quiet, alone with his thoughts. 

There are no sleigh bells echoing in the distance or even the sharp scent of pine but Christmas isn’t just a time of year; it’s a feeling. And he feels it tonight.

“Hey,” a voice comes from behind him, as the back door opens a bit. Even in the thick chill he can sense home as it escapes through the crack: the scent of Christmas ham and pumpkin pie, the snap and crackle of the fireplace, yuletide carols softly spilling out, all the things he should be thrilled to be part of.

She plunks down next to him, wraps her hand around the crook of his arm, and leans in against him. “Mom left.”

He nods, staring out into the woods. 

Scully continues. “She’s worried about you,” she says, hesitantly. “You were a little distant tonight.”

He wants to tell her of course he was distant. He has a lot on his mind. The world was supposed to end and it didn’t. He feels restless and unhinged. 

Now what, Scully? _Now what?_

She squeezes him tighter. “Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she says softly. “I love you.”

Her voice is soft as moonlight, but warm. He does not respond, though. He’s confused, distressed, untethered. He doesn’t know up from down, even with Scully sitting right next to him. His true north. He wishes he knew what to do to make this feeling go away.

She leans in to kiss his cheek, rubs his forearm a couple times like a habit, then gets up to go back inside. When she shuts the door the porch is silent and he sits alone in the cold chill.

He doesn’t know yet what will happen, if anything. He doesn’t know yet he’s going to become impossible to live with. 

He doesn’t know she’s going to leave him.

If he’d known, he’d have done things differently.

  
  
  



End file.
